


Early Retirement

by Burdenedwithgloriousporpoise



Series: Marlowe Fics [10]
Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies), Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Gen, One Shot, Short, Space Pirates, cops gone rogue, hilowe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-23
Updated: 2017-04-23
Packaged: 2018-10-22 21:22:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10705371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Burdenedwithgloriousporpoise/pseuds/Burdenedwithgloriousporpoise
Summary: Law enforcement's still law enforcement, even when technically 'outside the law'.





	Early Retirement

Quill entered the bar, mask in place. Neon glared from most every surface that wasn't dingy metal. Bodies in an assortment of rainbow colors and fashions milled around, twined in the shadows, passed out in corners, laughing too loudly over arrays of empty glasses at the bars--in other corners, shouting as they pounded the daylights out of one another.

His contact said he'd be at a table by the window. He nudged his way through the crowd. This was an easy gig, as the kid was doing all the heavy lifting with the materials acquisition (although with the rate he charged it was a little on the worth-it-but-almost-not-quite end of the employment spectrum.) Apparently he came from deep within the classified ranks, so he could get most any fancy tech imaginable. Except weapons, oddly. He never dealt in weapons. 

He rounded a corner. The floor-to-wall window was the main draw of this dive, and it seemed 98% of the profits earned went to paying for the prime real-estate while the establishment itself went to shambles. The view was almost worth it, though: greens and purples of a nebula, spattered with myriad sparkling points over a velvet black backdrop. Before it, all the tables were filled. He leaned against the wall, pressed the communicator on the side of his mask and deliberately crossed one leg over the other.

Ping of an incoming transmission and text appeared in his viewscreen: _Here. Ponytail. Feet on the table._

Quill sauntered from the wall and down the row of tables. One human kid had his feet on the table and a small glass of gold-colored liquid raised to his lips, keen gray eyes on the starscape beyond. He had a swarthy complexion, black hair pulled back into a short ponytail and straight-cut bangs across his forehead. His ravager garb was barely weathered, nice quality. Stood out. There was something in his bearing, too. To the casual observer he might seem relaxed, but there was an underlying awareness that suggested ex-military. An subtle poise or confidence to even his seemingly lazy sprawl.

Maybe he could taze the kid from here and run with--

"I wouldn't," he said into the glass, eyes flicking his way but otherwise unmoving. He finished drinking and turned to look at him, set down the glass and stood.

"Peter Quill."

Quill's shoulders gave an irritated twitch. "Folks call me Star-Lord."

The kid smiled. "I know. I used to arrest you, remember?"

He frowned and squinted. The kid's stern features now wore a smile--oh. The hair. The hair changed. "What? Bowlcut kid?! You ain't undercover, right?"  
Bowlcut kid shook his head and chuckled. "Nah. It's Kappa now, after my co-pilot had a little fun with my ID."

"No way. Who would've thought? ...And it's Bowlcut unless you call me Star-Lord."

"Ooh, a hard bargain. Fine, Star-Lord."

"Why Kappa?"

"It's an inside joke." He winked. "Doesn't really apply post-ponytail, but it stuck anyway." He gestured his way. "I've got something for you. Did you still want that?"

His bearing was somehow both whimsical and dangerous. He looked more frightening like this than he had even when making a reputation in the MP ranks. Then, he'd been gangly and starched and constantly peeved in a uniform that didn't quite fit. Now he looked confident and oddly unpredictable. If the kid still held his over-the-top claims of righteousness and 'changing things', then unshackling himself from those push-over cops made every criminal otherwise protected by pandering laws into fair game. It was an oddly unnerving thought.

"Yeah, yeah. Lead the way."

They left the bar, turning onto a cat-walk that offered a bird's-eye view of the dumpy clustered buildings below. They descended a flight of stairs. His posture was definitely ex-military, standing almost inhumanly straight with chin lifted in a glaringly disciplined fashion. He was a newbie in the underworld--still had a ways to go before he shook off the look of law-enforcement.

"So...what turned a cop like you from the straight-n-narrow?"

He gave a short laugh. "An MP friend of mine told me that the system needed changing. I tried that for a while, but it was getting increasingly hard to do what I thought was right while operating within its parameters. So I left." He glanced back with a smile. "Sometimes you have to overhaul things, and sometimes you have to start from scratch. I've opted for the latter. Where does the system start? With the people. So that's where I'm starting, now."

Yeah. Laws were definitely for the protection of the criminal here.

They took a turn to the right around the side of the bar, down a tight spiraling staircase to the junkyard. Here was left all the the garbage the bar had to offer, of varieties both inanimate and occasionally living. Its reputation as the stomping-ground of the homeless, scrappers, criminally inclined and grudge-match fighters in a town already far off the map of civilization slid it effectively outside the law's vision, making it also an increasingly popular drop-zone. 

Quill rested his hand casually on his hip above his jacket as they entered, ready to draw. Kappa had a similar pose. He approached the scrap-heap and began gingerly ascending the loose pieces of metal. Quill followed; Kappa stopped and touched something before him. There was a slight hiss and a door slid open, a perfect lit rectangle amidst the jagged debris. He followed him across the threshold and the door slid closed behind them.

It was a little ship, a bit older but well-kept, clean. Flowers in a sealed glass terrarium fixed to the kitchen counter, a hand-painted backsplash and trim. It felt oddly almost like stepping into someone's home.

"Company," announced Kappa.

"Welcome to the Unicorn," said a female voice. A slender woman stepped around the corner. She had honey-colored curls down to her jaw and bright eyes with a slight upward slant. Her dark lashes gave her almost a cat-like look, and her smile was like Kappa's in its whimsical unreadability.

"My co-pilot and the origin of my name...alias Witch," he introduced. The look he gave her was almost deadpan and her lips quirked as if sharing an inside joke.

"Got it all set up?" he asked.

"Of course." They followed her to the cargo hold, where the bargained-for goods were arrayed. A laser sight fixed on Quill's feet from an unseen weapon and Kappa gave an easy smile. "Sorry, company policy. Stay put while we get you set up." He unboxed the various items and held them out for inspection, explaining each in more detail than Quill could've asked until his head spun. "Alright, alright, I'll take your word, it's good stuff."

"Wonderful. Bring your ship around and we'll load you up."

Kappa aided in carrying boxes while Witch watched the ship. Upon the loading of everything, Quill handed over the agreed-upon amount. "Thanks." Kappa handed it to Witch, who took it around the corner.

There was a slight pause.

"I guess we're done, then."

Kappa laughed slightly. "As in the way of all transactions where neither party attempts to kill each other, it's been good doing business with you. You know how to find me if you need anything else."

*** 

The dash rattled beneath Hitch's heels as the engine purred. Outside the viewscreen, debris blasted from beneath the other ship's engines as it took off. The door slid open and Marlowe entered. She looked back over her shoulder. "Hey, didn't you arrest that guy a few times?"

He chuckled. "Seems to be a recurring thing, doesn't it?"

"Got a nice sum this time."

"Yeah, real nice. It'll do some good." He stooped and kissed her, then took the adjacent chair and began various system checks. She buckled in and his seatbelt clicked as he did the same.

"Still can't believe you picked 'Witch'," he said.

She laughed.

"Don't you think it's counterintuitive to make your fake name so close to your real name?"

She held up her index finger. "Exactly! That's what everyone else will think, and so I'll never be discovered. Pretty slick when you think about it."

He rolled his eyes.

"Well, at this point I couldn't change it back even if I wanted to. That's already how it's circulating. We'll confuse any clients."

"You're gonna get us caught, you know that?"

She stuck out her tongue.

"And, brace." The ship rose, and soon the slummy pile of lodgings was a twinkle on a fast-receding sphere.

"What do you think about the next gig?" she asked.

He winced slightly. "I don't particularly like any of our options this time around."

"A regular hive of scum and villainy."

"Mm." His lips compressed. "I think we can take a few days to narrow down the list...maybe wait for a more appealing offer. Something well-paying, at _least_ in the gray zone of morality and free of political and gang entanglements. Is that too much to ask?" He shot her a humorous glance and they laughed.

"In the meantime..." She hummed slightly and held up her hand, wiggled her fingers and toyed with the pipe-cleaner around her ring finger.

"Ohhh. That's right."

"Don't get me wrong, I love the shotgun-wedding feel of this one, but..."

"Shotgun wedding? Do you know what that saying actually means?"

"It's like if a wedding was held at gunpoint or something. Like saying it was rushed. Cus you know it was right after we actually were held at gunpoint that you proposed. I was using descriptive slang as wordplay."

"I think angry fathers are supposed to feature."

"Angry fathers or alien hoardes, in this case." She smirked. "I didn't specify who had the shotgun."

"That's...still not the implication, but alright."

"I'm a trailblazer. I redefine as I go."

He snorted. The engine hummed. "In any case, we do need to take care of that, don't we?"

She smiled. "Ahh, you know, after the ship's taken care of, and those brats are taken care of, and our equipment's sorted out, and we have enough food..."

"I think we've got most of that solved with this run, actually."

Her lip curled slightly. "I should hope so. We cut it close. It's gonna be getting harder now that everyone's on edge."

"Hm." He bit his bottom lip slightly, then set a course.

"Xandu? Really?" It was hard to keep the incredulous squeal from her voice. "We're so wanted there."

"Well, we've got friends. Plus--there's that one shop you used to like, the one where you'd always look through the windows when we were on patrol." He looked over, sincerely questioning. "Unless you think it's a bad idea?"

"It's always a bad idea." She reached over and squeezed his hand. "Let's do it." 

**Author's Note:**

> They couldn't fight over it forever--Hitch finally convinced him to ditch the haircut.


End file.
